


Waiting for the Dust to Settle

by runicmagitek



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mid-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 04:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30083604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runicmagitek/pseuds/runicmagitek
Summary: “Laguna, what are you doing?”He’s rambling, technically, but Raine cannot follow his day’s recollection when the mud he’s trailing in screams at her. Of course he doesn’t notice. When has he ever?“Uh,” Laguna says, blinking, “talking about today’s monster report? You know, what I usually—”Raine marches past him, wielding paper towels in one hand and disinfecting spray in the other.Between scolding and cleaning, Raine can't help but be drawn to Laguna.
Relationships: Laguna Loire/Raine Loire
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8
Collections: Final Fantasy Kiss Battle 2021





	Waiting for the Dust to Settle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dee_Moyza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Moyza/gifts).



> For the prompt - shut up

“Laguna, what are you doing?”

He’s rambling, technically, but Raine cannot follow his day’s recollection when the mud he’s trailing in screams at her. Of course he doesn’t notice. When has he ever?

“Uh,” Laguna says, blinking, “talking about today’s monster report? You know, what I usually—”

Raine marches past him, wielding paper towels in one hand and disinfecting spray in the other. She mops up the grime, sprays the area with an assault of lemon-scented chemicals, and wipes it down until the floors squeak. All the while, Laguna stands and stares, as if she slew a ferocious beast.

“Please don’t track in dirt,” she says after disposing of the used paper towels. “Or mud or whatever you’re walking through.”

“You don’t need to worry about that!” Laguna offers an apologetic smile. “I can clean up after myself.”

Her shoulders slide up her neck and he loses an inch in height from her stare alone.

 _When?_ she wants to yell. _A week after it_ _’s encrusted in the floors? While I’m screaming at you to grow up?_

“I hope so,” is what she settles on, “because I don’t want to be cleaning up after you under _my_ roof.”

“Of course!” he stammers out, then eases back into his aforementioned rambling.

Raine cannot help but smile ever-so-slightly. Despite his antics, he does well to make her forget the daily stresses of life. Maybe that’s why she hands out hundreds of second chances to him.

Which explains why he waltzes in with dirt-covered shoes a week later and she’s already pawing for the paper towels. Some things never change.

Though when she shoves them into his hands, he furrows his brow, utterly dumbfounded by the cleaning supplies now in his clutches. “What’s this for?”

It takes more strength than she has to not scream. Instead, she wildly gestures at the dirt trail he left in his wake.

“Oh!” Laguna says, then laughs. “Right! I forgot! Give me a second and I’ll get on that.”

He rests the items on a nearby table and retreats elsewhere, possibly to drain the hot water for his post-patrol shower. When he returns and they eat dinner and prepare for bedtime, the dirt on the floor remains.

Laguna’s talking—like always—as Raine storms back down the stairs, swipes the cleaning supplies, and does what needs to be done. Leaning over the railing, Laguna catches sight of her and fumbles with an apology.

“Raine, just leave it be.” He’s back on the first floor and approaching her. “I can take care of it. You don’t need to worry about—”

“Just—” She snaps upright, whips around, and glares. “—take your shoes off, alright? Leave them by the door. It’s the _least_ you can do.”

His shoulders slump and she walks past him to toss out more dirty paper towels. He stays there as she heads upstairs and collapses into bed with a deep groan. Her frayed nerves deprive her of sleep, but when she does doze off, she dreams of a different life, one where Laguna does his dishes and folds his laundry and keeps everything tidied and organized. He sweeps her into his arms and says it was all to surprise, to make her smile.

She isn’t smiling when she wakes, unsure if Laguna ever went to bed. En route to the kitchen for morning coffee, she spots him on the couch and her heart sinks. An hour later, she returns with a tray stuffed with breakfast, from waffles to sausage to scrambled eggs to buttery toast. Raine nudges him awake with her foot. Once his eyes adjust and he notices her peace offering, he makes room for her.

They eat in silence. Nothing but crumbs line their plates when Laguna finds his voice.

“I’m sorry I keep messing things up,” he says, eyes low and lips curled down. “You’ve been nothing but good to me. You deserve more than someone who can’t remember the house rules.”

Raine hitches her breath. “Laguna….”

“I’m serious. I just… I guess it hasn’t been easy for me to adjust? Like a normal life or halfway normal one? Heck, you’d think with all my military training, I’d be a pro at making the bed and dusting and stuff… but if I was cut out for that, I’d still be there, right?” He exhales and hangs his head. “I’m not sure _what_ I’m cut out for. It’s like I’m stumbling my way through this without an instruction manual.”

She reaches for his clasped hands on his thighs, her thumb gently stroking him. “We _all_ are.”

He cracks a smile. It’s small, but it’s there. “I’ll do better, though.” His vibrant eyes meet hers. “I’ll do it for you.”

She wants to laugh over a cheesy line like that, but from Laguna, it’s charming. “I’m sorry if I’ve been too strict.”

“You? Nah! Besides, this is _your_ place. I’m just a guest and all that. Your house, your rules!”

There’s truth in that—it _is_ her place. But Raine reconsiders the notion with each passing day, as Laguna returns with another set of stories to inundate her with while she prepares dinner. She had always cooked for herself and Ellone before, but it’s different now, adding another adult-sized portion, another plate to the table, another chair. Even when she restocks on linens and food, she considers Laguna’s perspective along with her own. Thankfully, he is easy to please, but the fact her mind drifts when doing the most basic of adult chores gives Raine pause.

Maybe it’s not just _her_ place, anymore. And honestly? She’s okay with that.

That idea—that _dream_ —shatters as the front door slams shut and Laguna forgets to kick off his boots. Just as Raine forgets the days upon days he meticulously slipped them off and stowed them under the entryway bench. Searing anger clouds the memories, tenses her muscles, and widens her eyes.

Laguna meets her stare and winces; he _knows_ before she stomps towards him, armed with cleaning supplies.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” He hops on one foot to free the other from his boot. “It slipped my mind! I’ll take care of it, Raine.”

She ignores him and unravels a wade of paper towels to sop up whatever he trekked in this time. He swoops in, however, and holds her tight against him before she has the chance to clean.

“What are you doing?!” she huffs.

“I said I’ll take care of it,” Laguna says.

“I _just_ mopped and polished the floors today! Do _you_ plan on redoing that?” He hesitates and she sighs. “Let me clean it up, Laguna.”

“You don’t need to work yourself to death! I’ll clean it up.”

“Will you _shut up_ and let me go?!”

They wrestle and spin. More mud and grass and gravel coat the floor panels. Her livid state blinds her to the way their bodies crush together, to the rapid pulse living in his chest, to the warmth she’s thought about more times than she ever wants to admit.

“Why do you have to be so difficult?” Raine grumbles.

“Honestly? The feeling’s mutual.”

“ _What_?!”

“Whoa, I didn’t mean it like—”

They twirl again, but their feet tangle, then stumble. The loose laces from his boots don’t help, either. Raine hitches her breath as she slips away, but she blinks and Laguna dives for her, scoops her into a tight embrace, and takes the brunt of the fall.

She doesn’t dare to move while she rests on top of him. The anger lifts and dreadful anxiety settles in its place—the kind that makes her hyper-aware of unwashed dishes and poorly folded clothes. Except she’s not concerned with any of those things. Not when she can listen to the rise and fall of his breath, the skips in his heartbeat, the subtle swallow in his throat and even the lick of his lips.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

Raine holds her breath and tries to ignore the thrum in her body.

“You okay?” Laguna asks, as gentle as the hands keeping her close.

She nods into his chest, but eventually coughs up, “Yeah. You?”

“I’ve had worse falls,” he admits while rising to seated. “My pride is a bit bruised, but I’ll take it.”

He chuckles at his self-deprecation, utterly oblivious to Raine straddling his lap. She’s not, though. And she could move, but she doesn’t.

“Oh, Raine,” he says, “what’s it going to take to get you to relax?”

The list of reasons unfurls in her mind, but nothing graces her tongue to answer him. Then again, she’s occupied with looking into his eyes. Were they always that shade of green?

Her silence rouses another chuckle out of Laguna. “Hey, it’s alright.” He squeezes her and she stiffens, only now realizing he’s still holding her. “How about you sit down with some tea and I’ll clean up my mess, hmm?”

She doesn’t remember if she answers, just as she doesn’t remember standing with him or fixing herself a cup of chamomile or watching him struggle with cleaning up every speck of dirt. She doesn’t know if the floor is, in fact, spotless or if his boots are where there should be or if dinner is actually ready or if he knows how much she worries about him or if he ever looks at her and feels what she feels.

She _does_ , however, remember him clapping his hands clean upon finishing, closing the distance between them, leaning in, and kissing her temple.

“See?” Laguna says, his breath tickling her skin. “All clean now! Nothing to worry about.”

“You don’t need to do this,” Raine replies, unsure if she means the cleaning or… whatever it is that lingers between them.

“Nope! I don’t.” His smile widens. “But I wanted to. It’s the least I can do for all your hospitality, right?”

He pulls away and Raine latches onto the lapels of his jacket. He freezes as her knuckles turn white. Words fail her, though, and she blinks back tears.

“Hey,” he says softly, slowly, “it’s alright.”

Laguna joins her and holds her again. Even when the trembles in her form wane and her tears dry up, he keeps her close.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers into her hair. “You don’t need to do this alone.”

For the first time since they met, she believes him—truly. It’s why she allows him to sleep beside her, why she accepts his marriage proposal, why she wants a family with him.

But when Ellone vanishes, so does Laguna, and Raine stops cleaning her place and can’t help but stare at the front door, waiting for him to return and to forget to take off his boots.


End file.
